5 Times
by shellcottages
Summary: George Weasley thought about suicide five times in his life: May 4, 1998; March 31, 1999; May 2, 1999; December 24, 2000; August 16, 2002
1. May 4, 1998

_**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I decided in the end to have it in five separate chapters. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!**_

_George Weasley thought about suicide five times in his life:_

1. May 4, 1998, 5:45 p.m.

He sat on the edge of the cliff. He waited there for a long time, thinking about everything and of nothing at all. The sound of the water crashing against the rock wall was mean to comfort him, he originally thought, but he soon realized that it did the opposite.

It made him, more than anything, want to join the water.

He wanted to become the water, and to crash against the rock wall. He wanted nothing more than to repeatedly rock up against the side of the cliff until he could feel nothing more, because as far as he was concerned, there was nothing more.

He threw a stone into the water. He watched it as it rotated multiple times before hitting the cliff's face, then rebounding in the opposite direction before puncturing the water, sinking to the bottom. None of the other elements had stopped for it; the waves continued to smash into the cliff; the wind continued to blow through his hair; the sun continued to creep lower in the skyline, soon threatening not to be seen at all.

His desire changed. He now wanted to be the rock; the useless, forgotten rock that could disappear without a second thought. It would be easier that way, for him and everyone else.

_Fred's dead, _he told himself._ He was buried and gone and there was nothing more__**.**_

He had repeatedly told himself that all afternoon. It hadn't sunk in until then. The the past two days have simply been a blur.

The funeral was earlier that morning. It was Bill's idea to bury him at Shell Cottage; it was where a brave house elf, yes, a _house elf_, was buried earlier in the year. What a completely stupid idea, thought George. It's bad enough having to think about moving on from everything as is, but being forced to reface everything every time he visited Bill's house …

He accepted the idea because he wasn't thinking clearly at the time. He truly believed that he would have peacefully died in his sleep before the funeral so he wouldn't have to deal with it. But he had to deal with it. Watching the minister in the foreground of Fred's tomb, his final resting place, hearing him say pointless and generic words about the life of the deceased. Saying a speech, the one he purposely didn't plan for to put himself in less misery. And now, since that didn't happen, and he was still here, he would have to end his life himself.

He picked up another rock, scraping his hand on the pile while doing so.

'_Fuck_!' exclaimed George, but he did nothing else to heal the wound. There was a jagged cut on the back of his hand, a bead of blood streaming towards his wrist. He watched the undivided stream travel, as this was a good way of distracting him, just as the rocks were. What use would it be, taking the effort to clean up the cut? He would be dead soon enough anyways.

So why not jump now? He was right tbere on the edge of the cliff, and, upon a single jump, air would be the only thing stopping him from having a fate as the rock. But he was too tired to stand up, and he didn't want the final word out of his mouth to be a profanity. He would choose some thought-out phrases that only he would hear to satisfy himself, and then he would go.

He started to think of what his famous last words could be when he heard footsteps from behind him.

He didn't turn to see who it was, because as far as he was concerned it didn't matter. Whoever it was had distracted him from his inevitable death, and he decided to hate him for it on default. It wasn't until the figure sat down that he recognized the balding ginger hair and glasses that his father wore in his peripheral vision. George avoided looking at him, but could feel Arthur Weasley's eyes boring into his head. This was the first time anyone had directly approached him one-on-one since Fred's death, and upon realizing this, he realized how much he had wanted this all along.

Nothing was said for several minutes, yet the minutes were calmer and easier to cope with. And then …

'I'm sorry you're going through this, George,' said Arthur softly.

George knew that he meant it, and that alone helped slightly. The tears began to swell up in his eyes, which was also strange to him since the whole affair happened; he _couldn't _cry. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to believe it, or because the pain was too piercing for tears, but no matter the reason, the fresh tears caught him off guard. Arthur continued after a pause.

'I understand what you're going -'

'Don't you dare finish that sentence,' snapped George. He stared into his father's eyes, which were deep with emotion. George's voice was quiet, but full of anger. 'You don't know what any of this is like. You never had your - your - other half just -' he struggled with the word '-_die_.' His voice started to raise. 'You never had to go through that with your brothers! I haven't been away from Fred this long in my entire life!'

'George, please, just listen to me -'

But George stood up, too deep in his exclamation of everything he had been going through.

'Do you know how long we've been apart before, Dad? Do you?'

Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt, but thought better of it at the last minute. He shook his head.

'We were apart for ten hours in our fourth year when Snape gave us separate detentions, that's when, Dad. We've never been apart any longer than that. Aside from whenever one of us is on a date or having sex or something, and those six and a half minutes when Mum was in fucking _childbirth_, we've been together. So now, when we've been apart for two days and will continue to be apart forever …'

George broke off and fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Everything started to speed up and he understood who he was in that moment: he was a frightened young boy desperate for hope, just one thing that could keep him here so he could keep his brother's memory alive. He knew that Fred certainly didn't want him to go through this, but the situation made it impossible not to. He needed that little spark to keep him alive.

Arthur wrapped his arms around him, allowing George to cry in his arms. George was crying so hard that he couldn't speak, so he called out to his father by thinking as loud as he possibly could, _Please, Dad. Help me. Save me …_

Either Arthur could sense this request, or it was simply a moment of good parenting, because what he told George next gave him hope to go on.

'George … did I ever tell you about William?'

George looked up and choked back tears, confused. 'W-William?'

'Yes, William … my brother … my twin brother.'

This was ridiculous, thought George. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. He tried to get out of his father's grip, but Arthur held tighter.

'Let me go, Dad.'

'Not until you hear me out.'

George stopped struggling. This conversation wouldn't matter in a few minutes: he'd be dead. He might as well listen to whatever his father had to say.

'George, listen to me. I promise every word of this is true, and I want you to know that. What I'm about to tell you is something I have only ever told your mother, but I'm all right with you passing it on to whomever you want.'

George looked up at his father. He couldn't help it; he was curious.

'I was actually supposed to be a twin. My mother went through a very healthy and normal pregnancy but at the last minute, something … something went wrong. He was alive for the hour and then passed away.'

'And his name was William?'

'It was. Now, I know what you're thinking: you had the opportunity to get to know Fred. You got the chance to see him grow while I was never aware of a time when William was with us.'

George gave a reluctant chuckle: this was exactly what he was thinking. His father knew him better than he thought.

'That is true. That is where we, the surviving twins, are different. But you have many memories of Fred from his life that you can look back on and smile at, whereas I have nothing to remember of William. Not a day goes by where I don't think of him. We could've been more than brothers, than twins, but _friends_. I often wonder whether we'd have the same interests, or have done equally well in school. And I won't lie when I tell you that it does get very difficult sometimes, losing the best friend I never had. But if there is any sort of advice I could give you, is to learn to find Fred in other things.'

'Like what?'

'Well, I always saw William in my eldest son.'

And then it all made sense. William. Bill. He was named after his father's late twin. Bill was his Dad's way of seeing William in other things. And maybe be could see Fred in other things too, like in Bludgers or fireworks or simply just good times, as they were all things that reminded George of him.

Arthur stood up and held out a hand to George to help him up. He accepted, and from that day on, whenever he felt sad, he would search for Fred Weasley in the world around him to cheer him up and to keep him marching on.


	2. March 31, 1999

_**Author's Note: What's this? People are actually liking my fic? Like, these reviews are saying some incredible things and I'm so happy that people like it! And, in a weird way, I'm glad I made a lot of you cry! Thank you all so much! I'll explain why this chapter took so bloody long to post at the end. For now, enjoy!**_

_George Weasley though about suicide five times in his life._

2. March 31, 1999, 11:40 p.m.

After a while, searching for Fred Weasley in the world around him lost its effectiveness.

The first few months were all right. When he missed him at the joke shop, he would find him in the smiling faces of satisfied customers. When he missed him at family gatherings, he would find him in the faces of his brothers, similar to the way his father found William. When he missed him being able to keep secrets, he would find him in the comfort of his girlfriend, the woman who he loved and was the only person he could open up to at any time who would listen.

But the time eventually came for George to want to see the _real_ Fred, and not just substitutes.

He was alone in his bedroom, in the little flat around the corner from the shop. He couldn't live at the shop anymore. Too many difficult memories of the brother he lost. He sat on his bed, trying to push away the thought of time. Blending seconds with minutes, minutes with hours, hours into days …

Angelina said she would be back late. He was waiting for her, eager for her to come home. He didn't know why, really. What he was anxious for didn't involve her.

Every so often he would check his watch. Sometimes it would be seconds that have passed and sometimes it would be several minutes. He thought to himself that the world would be better off without this excuse called time. Without it, we would not have a reason to long for something that left so many years ago, or to need to wait to move on. Because the truth was that George Weasley did not move on. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to move on anymore.

The rocks and water were gone. He no longer wanted to become the rocks or the water. Instead, he wanted to become nothing. To cast an Invisibility Cloak over his entire existence. To cast one over his entire _knowledge _of existence. It would be so much easier to have never been born at all …

He stared at his watch for the full final minute, watching the second hand tick slowly indicating the passage of time. His heart was beating increasingly stronger. This was it. This was the moment that he had both dreaded and secretly anticipated. He hated himself for it, but it was true. He wanted it to be dramatic, to have some sort of meaning that people would talk about long after he had lost the ability to hear it.

And the second-hand reached the twelve, meeting up with the minute- and hour-hand. Midnight.

April 1st, 1999.

_Twenty-one._

For the first time in his life, George would be acknowledging the completion of another year without his twin at his side. The idea seemed distant to him, as if it weren't really April yet; as if it were still the previous May and time had frozen. Fred Weasley was still alive. He and George were fighting with the Order of the Phoenix right now, at Hogwarts. There is no way that anything would happen to separate them, and nothing ever will …

He needed anything to distract him from this reality. He ran into the bathroom and looked dead-on into the mirror, forcing himself to look at his reflection. He saw his face, and his face only. He unfocused his eyes, trying as hard as he could not to see what was in front of him, his eyes losing the battle to hold in tears, but he brought up the courage to see himself, to see him.

_To see Fred._

He looked into the reflection and repeated the same phrase in his head over and over again.

_I need to see Fred … I need to see Fred … I need to see Fred …_

Fred isn't here, he thought. Fred doesn't look like this. He looks happy. He would smile. How can I smile? How can I be happy?

No, he thought, this is me. This is my face looking back at me. Because Fred doesn't have three scars that I do. Fred doesn't have a scarred hole where his ear used to be. Fred doesn't have the scar that I got on my own hand right after his funeral. Fred doesn't have the scar on his arm that I got on his eleventh birthday, the scar that had marked us apart for ten years …

George tried to ignore that memory since Fred's death, the time where their first physical difference was born; the time when he first realised they had their own strengths amongst themselves.

* * *

><p><em>'George! This is the last time I'm calling your bloody name!'<em>

_His eyes were still closed and were heavy. They were telling him that sleep was necessary, but the commotion around him stated the opposite._

_'What?' he said, still unmoving in the position in which he woke up._

_'George, you idiot, you slept right through it!'_

_'I don't get what you - wait a minute!' he said suddenly, opening his eyes and sitting bolt upright, all tiredness being pushed aside. The lights were on, and he could see the excitement in his brother's eyes. He realised that he had missed it, that he had failed to stay awake for the exact moment. He had to ask. He has to double-check: 'I didn't actually -'_

_'You did,' said Fred. 'It's been an entire minute and a half since we were ten.'_

_'You could've woken me up, you know.' said George annoyedly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes._

_'Well, you're awake now, so it doesn't matter,' said Fred, now deeply reaching down the side of the bed, clearly searching for something. 'Anyway, cheers, brother!'_

_In one fluid motion, Fred emerged from the side of his bed and threw a roughly-wrapped package into George's general direction. His aim was far off from the original target, however. Instead of landing in George's raised arms, it veered off to the left and went flying straight through the window. The twins looked at one another as they listened as the glassed shattered and the for the distinct thump as the package hit the ground._

_There was a moment of silence where they didn't know how to react, and then they finally burst into silent laughter._

_'You bloody idiot!'_

_'It's your fault for not catching it!'_

_'You could've thrown it somewhere even _remotely _towards me!'_

_'I was hoping you'd move to where I was _clearly _throwing it!'_

_The twins laughed with an increasing volume until their stomachs were sore. Once Fred was able to control himself, he held his finger up to his mouth._

_'Shhhh, you need to be quiet or Mum will inflict all hell on us.'_

_'Alright,' said George, allowing their final sniggers before climbing out of their beds to examine the window._

_The impact of the throw managed to completely shatter an entire pane of glass. While most of the pieces fell outside with the gift, some of the tiny shards fell into the room. Luckily, the twins took notice of this and managed to avoid stepping on them as they approached the window._

_The package appeared to be roughly the size of a shoebox, wrapped in what looked like cut-up copies of_ The Daily Prophet._ George hoped that whatever was inside it wasn't breakable, as it had fallen from the second floor. Fred didn't look too concerned, but then again, Fred never did look too concerned about anything. He looked determined, as if he had a plan of how to fix the problem forming in his mind._

_Fred always had a plan. It came instinctively, which was a quality of him George was always envious of. Fred would come up with things on the spot, and George would just go along with it. It always went unmentioned, but deep down it bothered him, how Fred was always the leader, the one in charge. It wasn't a popularity contest, it was more of the fact that Fred could do one thing better than he could. _

_He wondered if Fred noticed that._

_After looking out the window for a moment, Fred's gaze was brought back into the room, searching for something that was in the room that could help him. His eyes darted around, occasionally focusing on something he thought could be useful, yet turned away after deciding it was too improbable._

_'Pity our brooms aren't up here,' said George, trying to step up as a leader._

_'Already thought of that,' said Fred. He didn't say it with the intent to hurt him, but it still made an impact on George's mood. Fred was still searching around the room. 'I can't think of any way to get down there other than to actually _get down there_. The only problem is Mum.'_

_'What about her?'_

_'Surely she's going to hear us walk down a few sets of old stairs and out the door, walking across the yard and back again.'_

_'Honestly, the woman has about fifteen ears.'_

_'There's no passing her.'_

_'Well, not unless we try.'_

_'True … not unless we try.'_

_Fred made his way to the centre of the room, determining a final decision._

_'Alright … we're going to have to go down.'_

_'OK.'_

_'But we're going to have to go separately, just in case Mum catches one of us, we can still go back and get it.'_

_'Are you going to go first?' asked George._

_'Yeah, I think so.' he walked towards the door. 'If Mum comes up, pretend you're asleep.'_

_'OK.'_

_Fred disappeared out the door. George sat back down on his bed, listening for the sound of Fred's footsteps as they made their way down the loud, creaky stairs. He could tell that Fred was trying to move quietly, but it could make no difference. Even though their parents slept on the fourth floor, their mother could hear any going-ons for a hundred miles in the night. It was for this reason George was always somewhat tentative to cross her._

_But she also did some great things, too. When George told her he wanted to buy something for Fred's birthday, she took him to Diagon Alley - the _real_ Diagon Alley - to go purchase it. They went to Gringotts and took some money out of the vault, and they walked up and down the streets choosing a suitable gift. At last they decided on a massive box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. The box stated that inside was a total of 2,378 beans, which meant hours of enjoyment to be had between the brothers, seeing if they could determine every single flavour. It cost quite a bit of money, but their father had just received a raise and their mother said that it was acceptable for the twins to treat one another. George was very excited for Fred to open his gift._

_'_Who _is walking around the house at this time of night?'_

_Fred swore from below._

_George heard the quick footsteps of his mother coming from two floors above. They scurried down the creaky stairs until they came to a sudden halt. George can only assume that she was taking in the situation, and in a moment there would be an explosion of a reaction. George covered his ears just in time._

_'WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?'_

_'Hi, Mum,' he said calmly. 'Just getting a little midnight snack.'_

_Obviously this was a situation in which to lie; if she had found out about the broken window, they would never hear the end of it._

_'YOU AND YOUR BROTHER GET BACK TO YOUR ROOM THIS INSTANT!'_

_'He's already in our room, he's sleeping. But I'm sure he's awake now given the way you're carrying on-'_

_'I WOULDN'T NEED TO BE LIKE THIS IF YOU HADN'T DECIDED TO WANDER ABOUT THE HOUSE AT NIGHT! NOW GET UP TO YOUR ROOM AT ONCE!'_

_A moment later, the door opened. Fred entered, looking defeated._

_'Mission aborted.'_

_'Come on, we can still get it.'_

_'I'm not sure if you missed that, but I hardly passed Ginny's room when Mum may have blown out my eardrums and will probably do worse if we do the _exact same thing_ a minute later.'_

_'And she'd think we'd have the sense enough _not _to do that, so it'd be unexpected!' George was now heading towards the door. 'We made a plan, now let's follow through.'_

_Fred hesitated. 'Okay, but if you get caught, you're not allowed to pretend to be me.'_

_'I won't get caught,' said George. He was determined to prove to himself that he could do this, that he was equal to Fred. 'See you in a minute.'_

_He opened the door. It was dark. Surely eleven years of living at The Burrow would give you the knowledge to navigate through it at night, wouldn't it? He knew the ways to get across the house quietly. Perhaps Fred had panicked? He was sure Fred could have done it on his own._

_George took tiny steps, walking as close as he could to the edge of the stairs to be as quiet as possible. The stairs made some noise, but he walked slower and more carefully to avoid getting caught. If he could reach the bottom of the stairs, the rest would be simple. He just had to focus on making as minimal noise as possible in the meantime._

_At last, he reached the bottom of the stairs. The rest would be simple. He tiptoed through the living room and slowly opened the door leading into the backyard. After carefilly closing it behind him, he ran at full speed, because if he were caught now, it would make no difference; he would have the gift._

_He went to pick up the package when he felt something pierce his arm, and when he moved his arm to investigate, the pain spread along the side of his arm. Upon investigating, he found that a piece of the window glass had cut open his arm. George applied pressure on the cut with his other hand, trying to ignore its pain. He held the heavier-than-expected gift against his chest, wrapping his arms over it so his hand could still cover the wound._

_Because the end result of the journey, no matter how much noise was made, would end up in the bedroom, George took no concern in just how much noise he was making when returning to their room. However, his mother either could not hear him or decided to ignore him, as he entered the room without any problems._

_'Yes!' said Fred. 'Now pass it at me so I can chuck it at you again.'_

_'Why did you do that in the first place? It weighs about five pounds.'_

_'Well, I figured it would be fun. Now open it.'_

_'No,' said George, reaching down the side of his bed for the box of Bertie Bott's, '_you_ open _your_ gift first.'_

_'What happened to your arm?' Fred asked in concern._

_'Nothing, it got cut on some glass out there.' It still hurt, but he decided not to focus on it. 'Think fast!'_

_He tossed the box over, landing it directly in front of Fred on the floor. He ripped apart the _Daily Prophet _wrappings and examined the box._

_'Yes! There's got to be a million in here!'_

_'Actually, as it says on the side, there are exactly 2,378 of them.'_

_'Well, either way, we won't be able to finish them all tonight.' Fred opened the box up and pulled out two beans, passing one to George. 'We might as well get a start on them, though.'_

_At the same time, the twins put the bean in their mouths. Whatever flavour George had, it was certainly not delicious. It tasted thick and it felt as though it didn't belong in his mouth. He spit it out, knowing that his disgust was evident on his face._

_'What did you get?' asked Fred, sniggering._

_'I think … I think I just got a bogey flavoured one.'_

_Fred laughed, and George managed to join in too. Fred chewed on his bean for a little while longer before swallowing it. 'No joking? Well, I'd say yours is a little more memorable than my strawberry. Now, open your present.'_

_George unwrapped the gift and managed to read the label on the box inside._

BROADMOOR JUNIOR BEATER'S BAT

FOR THE YOUNG WIZARD

READY TO LEARN THE ART

OF BEING AN UNBEATABLE BEATER

_George couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him was a high-end Beater's bat, just his size. It must've cost a fortune, and he felt guilty and embarrassed for only buying Fred a box of sweets._

_'I think this owes for the fact that I broke your old one last summer,' said Fred, helping himself to another bean._

_One day in August, it was Fred's turn to put away all the Quidditch supplies after their game. It had started to rain, and he was eager to get back inside. This meant that he simply threw all the supplies in the shed before running back to the house. Unfortunately, his aim was as bad then as it was earlier that night, and the old, wooden Beater's bat missed the shed by a reasonable distance. The next morning, they found the bat completely waterlogged and ruined. George has shared with Fred since then, but he never expected a replacement, especially not one as quality as this._

_George didn't know what to say. He just looked at Fred._

_'I take it you like it, then?'_

_George nodded. 'But I only got you the beans.'_

_Fred shrugged it off. 'It's my fault you needed a new one. And anyway, if you hadn't gone down and got it, you wouldn't have it.'_

_'It was your plan, you deserve some credit.'_

_'But you follow through. You always follow through when I try to change things around. That was your capture there. You never give up.'_

_'I s'pose.' George looked right into Fred's eyes. 'Thanks.'_

_'No problem.'_

_And they went over to one another and hugged. They didn't hug often, but this seemed like a good moment. They truly realised that they needed one each other, that they had strengths that they didn't know about that the other relied on. It was a moment of confidence in both themselves and the other twin, an irreplaceable moment._

_They broke apart, and Fred took another bean at random and put it in his mouth. Suddenly, he spit it out._

_'Sardine.'_

_'That's disgusting,' said George, helping himself to the box._

* * *

><p>He traced the scar on his arm with his finger.<p>

Well, Fred, what's your plan now?

George realised on his eleventh birthday how things were going to work: Fred would come up with the plan, and George would follow through with it. Without both of the twins, nothing would get done. Fred was gone. There was no plan.

He had no plan for life.

But there had to be a plan. Fred _always _had a plan. George knew this was childish to think, but he had to believe it. All he wanted was _not_ to want to die. If Fred had a plan, he would be able to go along with it. It was the only way.

Fred isn't here. Some plan that was. A plan to leave me in the dark, George thought. That couldn't be it. Fred was better than that. He had a better plan than that.

George stood over the sink, unfocusing his eyes. He depended on Fred. Why would he leave when he knew he couldn't manage without him? How was this a part of his plan?

A long time passed before he realised what Fred's plan could be.

Fred must have known George couldn't survive on his own. This plan was a challenge to _try_.

George looked back into the mirror. He knew that Fred wasn't looking back at him, but he knew Fred was there, watching him. He knew that Fred wanted him to move on, to be happy in life. He wanted to push him, because even if he had survived, they would have gone their own separate ways anyway. This was just a greater sudden push into reality.

It's a start, though George. It'll bring me one day to the next, for a while, and it's all part of a plan.

He left the bathroom and fell onto his bed. He thought for a while. He knew that he had done a pretty good job of moving on without Fred: he was closer with his family than he had ever been, the shop had steady business, and he was in love. Fred would be proud. And George was proud of himself. That would be enough for now.

He was nearly asleep when the door opened, signalling Angelina had come home.

_**Author's Note: Hmmm … I'm somewhat satisfied about how this turned out, actually. I know, it's not an award-winning chapter, but it was a lot better than the original draft. *shudders at own terrible attempts at ficwriting***_

_**Alright, now for the reasons/excuses this took forever to post.**_

_**1. I just wrote three major senior exams, so please give me a break.**_

_**2. I had a sudden stroke of genius for my other fic and worked on it for a while. Speaking of that, it will probably be up soon, but don't quote me on that.**_

_**3. I was distracted by what will be Chapter 4 of this fic, and I love it very, very much, and for more than just the reason that my newfound favourite character is involved …**_

_**4. I basically rewrote the whole thing. Originally, there was no flashback, and instead Lee 'Deux Ex Machina' Jordan came in with this random situation that had no actual meaning to George's life, yet somehow managed to save it. Please, inwardly thank me for changing it.**_

**_Off topic, I just got back from The Woman in Black and it was a w e s o m e! Siriusly, go see it right now. This is not a request._**

_**Also, I'm thinking about adding Fred as the secondary character on the outline thing for this fic. Would that make sense?**_

_**Really long author's note. Sorry. Hope you'll stick with me to see that there will be better written chapters! I promise I'll be able to update sooner next time! Thanks again for reading, and don't forget to review ;)**_


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